On Day 656 of the daily poems our poet-translator Timothy Adès speaks of Greek lyric poet Angelos Sikelianós thinking to rouse John Keats from dreams of glaucous ivory, and fabled silver, and ponderous amber.  A beautiful translation by Adès.  “On Pylos’ broad and shining shore I pondered that you would be my friend …”  John… Continue reading

On Day 655 of the daily poems our poet Derek Adams finds Buried Treasure becoming unburied at the eroding cliff of the Naze – that promontory at the eastern end of NE Essex. The hard stuff Six pieces of wood, that some ancient alchemyhas turned to iron pyrites.One fifty million year old tooth, sharp as the day… Continue reading

On Day 654 of the daily poems we have found, hidden in your Editor’s files, another Buried Treasure.  Our poet Jenna Plewes reminisces the hard life of an old fisherman. Fisherman                                         Brine’s in my bloodI… Continue reading

Here is Buried Treasure indeed – a poem excavated from the files, a poem of secret knots, always the same red.  Where do they belong?  Our poet is Colin Hopkirk on this Day 653 of the daily poems. At the Craft Table always red woolalways the same redsomewhere betweenwine and bloodshe makes knotslong lines, sequencesused… Continue reading

On Day 652 of the daily poems our poet Colin Pink reminds us that all comes to dust in the end.  What was Buried Treasure becomes Lost Treasure – or even treasure that never was. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre returns to the dry earth from which it came dust to dust, ashes to… Continue reading